When Harry Met Santa
by Sorentense
Summary: A glimpse into Harry's first Christmas without his father. A glimpse that provides a reason why Harry goes fanboy when he meets the Kringle. A glimpse that I should probably be fuego'd for writing.


The orphanage had better heating than some of the places Harry had lived with his father, but it was the coldest place he'd ever been. Outdoors in the snow, people were hurrying back and forth, calling to each other and shoving parcels into cars.

 _Christmas._

This time last year, Christmas had been a busy time. Dad had had shows almost every night while Christmas parties were in season, and Harry had sat among children, old folks, or bored teenagers, swinging his short legs and watching his dad perform. He'd munched the sweets that smiling ladies offered him – some of whom were weird, and pinched his cheeks – and dreamed of the day when he'd be up there, too, assisting his father.

That day was never coming.

A few months ago, Harry's whole world had changed. The six-year-old boy had found his father in bed one morning, cold and smiling, looking like he was just asleep. Paramedics had come to the rickety little motel and pronounced him dead. They sent his body off to the coroner, and called the social worker to take Harry away.

His seventh birthday had come and gone, and now he was facing his first Christmas without Dad. No magic shows at Christmas parties, no long walks admiring the lights, no Burger King and Looney Tunes for Christmas Eve… no _Dad._

He felt the sting of tears coming into his dark eyes, and was glad the other children were on a bus, going into town to see Santa. He didn't want to see Santa without Dad, so he'd told the staff he didn't feel good and asked to go read upstairs. They'd shrugged and let him go. He was all alone, but at least he could cry without being picked on.

"Harry?" asked a musical lady's voice.

Harry quickly scrubbed at his eyes. "Y-yes, ma'am?" He jumped down from the window and looked at the lady with curly red hair. He'd seen her before. She'd brought him his father's deck of cards and a few other things from the act on his birthday, and told him that Seymour the white rabbit had gone to live with another magician. She wasn't like the other grown-ups who took care of him now. She was always smiling, right up to her goldish eyes, and she wore pretty dresses in rich emerald green rather than simple, stain-proof suits. "Am I in trouble?" he blurted warily. She didn't _look_ mad, but you couldn't always tell around here.

The lady laughed and ruffled his dark hair in a very engaging manner. "Not at all, little one. I'm here to take you to town for a bit. Hat and coat, please." Her cheerful tone squashed any argument in advance, so Harry found himself bundled up and walking hand in hand with the lady.

He was surprised when they set out along the sidewalk, rather than getting into a car. "Are we walking?" he asked.

"For a while," she replied mysteriously. She glanced down at him. "I should think you spend enough time inside, don't you?"

Harry flushed, remembering that he sulked upstairs instead of playing outside most days. "Maybe," he mumbled.

"Well then," she said decidedly. She reached out and caught a falling snowflake on her finger and showed it to him. "Christmas can only come in Winter, little one."

The way she said 'Winter' made it sound a lot more significant than just a season. Harry reached out to catch the falling snow, too. Maybe she meant 'winter' like the cold he'd been feeling, the cold of loneliness and grief. And maybe she meant Christmas a different way, too – a different kind of Christmas feeling that broke through the cold. Dad had said something like that, when he gave money to the people ringing bells, and they had graham crackers and milk for dinner.

The snow continued falling as they boarded the trolley, snug and warm in the noisy crush of humanity. Somehow, the lady in green stepped off the streetcar without so much as a wrinkle in her dress; she reached over to smooth down Harry's tousled hair, then tugged him along with her dazzling smile.

The mall she'd taken him to didn't look familiar, but Harry supposed there were a lot of malls. It certainly was beautiful, though, all bright lights and red bows and pine branches everywhere. There was a towering Christmas tree, covered with shimmering ornaments that reached to the top of the three story atrium. And next to that tree… and old man in a red suit, with a white beard and jolly laugh, who greeted small children as their parents led them up. The line circled halfway around the mall, full of the usual Christmas mix of laughter and screaming irritation.

Harry tugged away as the lady led him toward the line. "No! I don't want to see him!" When she turned to look at him, he stuck out his chin and gave her his best stubborn look. "Santa can't give me what I really want," he explained, sniffling back a tear. _He can't bring my dad back. He can't let me meet my mom._

The lady considered him for a moment with her amber eyes, then shrugged. "Very well, child." Her mouth tipped in a smile as they strolled away. "Waiting in line is hardly my favorite, anyway."

Harry wasn't sure what a normal Christmas outing was like – this was his first year as an orphan – but he had a feeling this wasn't it. The lady, who seemed almost creepily excited about everything Christmas, took him all over the mall. They looked at holiday displays, shopped for warm winter clothes, and had his Christmas burger in the food court. The lady also bought a bag of gingerbread cookies to munch as they walked, 'because he was such a sweet boy.' Mouth full, Harry didn't contradict her.

Finally, they even went to the little movie theatre to watch a movie about Jack Frost, which brought a really weird smile to the lady's face, the sort of smile people get when someone tells a story wrong. More importantly, to Harry's mind, they saw a trailer for the new Star Wars movie. _Dad won't get to see the rest of Star Wars,_ he thought, his gloom returning.

They walked slowly back to the front entrance, Harry starting to yawn already, while the lady in green was as bright as when they'd started. Maybe the ginger cookies had done it. But as they headed back through the atrium, past the enormous Christmas tree, the sound of laughter caught his attention. It was a deep, rolling laugh that swept over the entire mall. It was a laugh was bursting with joy and kindness, in a way that his little heart knew was _real_ , the way his father's laugh was real. You had to smile and feel stronger when you heard it. And the laugh was coming from Santa, who was now only ten feet away.

Harry stood silently for a minute, looking at the man in red, clutching the lady's hand. He'd seen Santa before – a large man with a white beard and a red velvet suit, laughing merrily and listening to children's wishes – but this one was different. There was something about the man's face – maybe the lines around his eyes or the shape of his mouth – that told Harry he hadn't always been happy. He felt an overwhelming certainty the man with the white beard had lost things. He had been hurt. He had been alone. If you closed your eyes, you could hear it in his laughter, and it warmed Harry down to the bone.

"Can I go see him?" he blurted out.

The lady in green looked down at him, laughing at some private joke. "You've changed your mind, then, child?"

Harry blushed and crossed his arms defensively. "Well… I want to see him."

It was never entirely clear to the young boy how he and the lady in green got to the front of the line – maybe he was too excited to pay attention – but in what felt like a few moments, it was his turn to meet with Santa. The big man sent a curly-headed girl on her way, then turned to smile on him. "Merry Christmas, young man," the deep voice boomed from behind the thick white beard. A hand in a soft leather glove extended toward him. "And what's your name?"

He offered his small, boyish hand to the man and gave the firm, friendly handshake his father had taught him. "I'm Harry," he said in a weak voice. Then his cheeks burned with irritation at his own shyness; he'd never been shy, until he found himself alone in the world. _I wasn't afraid when Dad was with me, and I'm not going to be afraid again!_ "Merry Christmas," he started again, looking up at Santa, like he would have if Dad were by his side. He smiled, finding it easier than he expected. "I'm Harry Dresden!" he proclaimed, emphasizing his father's name proudly.

Santa returned his grip and looked at him thoughtfully. "So you are," he agreed. Then he smiled again and patted the cushion in the sleigh beside him. "Come on up, Harry. Tell me what you want for Christmas."

Harry climbed up next to the man with the sort of enthusiastic trust reserved for children around Christmas. He sat next to Santa, with the gloved hand firmly on his shoulder, and felt like this man would understand. He shot a glance toward the line of waiting people, and addressed Santa in a low voice. "I… I want my parents back…" He trailed off and drooped his dark head, trying to hide the tears gathering again. "But you can't really do that, can you?"

"No," Santa agreed quietly, squeezing his shoulder. "All power has its limits, lad – even mine."

Harry nodded, swinging his short legs. "Can you give me a new family?" he asked doubtfully. He wasn't sure it was possible; some of the other kids were in the orphanage for the third or fourth time now, so he had his doubts on foster families. And even if he got one, he didn't think he could call a stranger 'Dad.' Not so soon after he lost his real dad. But he couldn't shake the longing for a place to call home and people to love him.

"Harry," Santa said after a moment, "I'm going to tell you a secret." The old man was smiling, but his eyes were sad and tender. He placed both hands firmly on the boy's shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "Families aren't given, lad. They're made." He smiled warmly. "Your father and mother made your first family; it's up to you to make a new one."

"How?" Harry choked out after a moment.

Santa winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Ah, that's the sort of thing your father taught you." He gave the boy a brief holiday embrace. "Merry Christmas, Harry Dresden."

The boy walked out into the snowy twilight with the green lady, mulling it over. Part of him was disappointed; he was still an orphan, still alone, and Santa really couldn't do anything to fix that. No one could. But another part of him, a part that was waking up and growing stronger with every step in the Christmas magic, thought differently. His dad had taught him more than card tricks; he'd taught him things that mattered, things he could carry with him. He could be a man like his father, a really, _really_ good man. And someday, somehow, because of what his father gave him, he could make a family of his own.

That part of him knew that while his father was gone forever, Harry wouldn't always be alone. And for that glimmer of hope, Santa was his hero.


End file.
